


The Past and the Future

by NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl



Series: Wrong Number [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, F/M, Retired Steve Rogers, Sharon's A Cop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-07-24 03:30:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7491732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlivesAwl/pseuds/OlivesAwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Fighting the ridiculous urge to grab a knife—he didn't exactly need hand weapons unless it was an angry Asgardian out there, he put the eggs back in the fridge and walked over to it. He could see two people through the gauzy drapes, and he pushed them aside slowly. Out on the balcony stood a filthy and beat up Natasha Romanov and Clint Barton. He was so surprised it took him a moment to open the door.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Uh. Hello," he said.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"I'm sorry," Nat said. "I didn't know where else to go."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Everybody we know is trying to kill us," Clint added.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Steve blinked, and then stepped back to usher them in. "Not everybody."</i>
</p><hr/><p>The continued adventures of Col. Rogers (retired) and Detective Carter, including the events of<i> Winter Soldier</i> and immediately after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Of course we wrote a sequel!
> 
> This one also contained a trope I saw in a lot of Stucky works, but it doesn't happen right away.

There was something to be said for dating a retiree. Several of Sharon's previous relationships had fallen apart due to scheduling issues. Her shifts were consistent, but often on irregular days and prone to change, especially before she'd made detective. And when she did catch a case she was basically on the clock all day until it was closed. It could be a hard thing for someone used to nine to five to deal with.

Steve, to her relief and delight, was more than happy to arrange his schedule to hers. It meant seeing him more than she had previous boyfriends and was probably one of the reasons they were still going strong a year after that first wrong number showed up on her phone.

It was the beginning of what would be her weekend and thanks to some shuffling with a friend she was getting three full days off. She doubted they'd leave Steve’s apartment much, but she was fully planning on enjoying every damn minute of it. A year later and they could still fill an entire weekend with sex and conversation, how many couples could say that?

When she got to his apartment and let herself in—she had a key—Steve was sitting on the couch, frowning at the news report he was watching.

"What's wrong?" she asked, shedding her coat to hang on the rack by the door.

He looked over at her. "Peggy tell you much about SHIELD?"

"Lots of stories from when she ran it. Most of them probably inappropriate for a seven year old." She took her holster off and set it on the side table, making her way over to him. "Did something happen?"

He pointed at the TV. "There was a big thing in downtown DC, apparently someone killed Nick Fury in the middle of the street. The party line is he was selling state secrets and was killed for it." 

"What?" She sat next to him on the couch, turning to the TV. He had the sound turned down and the subtitles on. Sure enough, there were pictures of a shot up SUV in the middle of the street. "That's bullshit, isn't it? Peggy trained him herself. She'd have trusted him with her life."

"He tried to mug her when he was a teenager. She beat him up and gave him a job." He looked up at her. "Doesn't sit right."

She curled her fingers around his. "Anyone reached out to you?"

"Nah. I doubt they would. They need the Avengers, they'll call Tony. He'll call me. I assume."

Steve had a standing offer to join in if the world was ending again. She supposed the assassination of the head of SHIELD, while awful, didn't count.

She rested her head on his shoulder. "Were you close? Did you know him?"

"A little. He kind of organized the Avengers, and supervised my thawing and acclimating to the modern world."

Didn't sound like they were exactly drinking buddies. Sharon wondered if anyone had told Peggy or thought to change the channel if she was having a bad day. One of them should call her in the morning. For now, she leaned in and kissed Steve's cheek. "I'm sorry, in any case. Do you want me to go get some takeout?"

He turned his head towards her. "I could do for some Indian."

"I will make that happen for you."

"Because you're the best girlfriend."

"Damn straight." She gave him another fast kiss and stood, grabbing the phone to call in their order. The best Indian place in the neighborhood didn't deliver, so once she hung up she changed into jeans and headed out, leaving him watching the news. She could tell this was bothering him more than he'd let on but poking wouldn't get her much. Clearly, he needed time to process.

She stopped at the bodega on the way to the Indian place, grabbing some drinks and ice cream, then got their order and hiked back to Steve's apartment. He'd turned the TV off and was on his laptop. "What would you think about taking a vacation this summer?"

"I like vacations." She set her bags on the kitchen table. "What prompted that? Is the world coming to an end and you don't want to tell me?"

"No, I was distracted by a commercial for a resort in the Bahamas."

She laughed. "So you just want to see me in a little bikini."

"You say that like it's bad thing." He got up and came into the kitchen. "I will be shirtless, if that helps."

"As long as the ogling is equitable I'm cool with it." She set out his curry and her butter chicken, then started unwrapping the double order of naan. "I got beer both alcoholic and root, if you're interested."

He set the table. Steve was fond of a properly set table. "I got another call today, someone wanting me to write a book."

"Did you let him down gently?" She opened them each a beer and stashed the rest in the fridge before joining him at the table.

"Yes," he said. "But you know, some days I think about it."

"Really? You've always seemed so reluctant." She tore some naan and started loading it with chicken and rice. "I think it'd be a hell of a read."

He stirred his curry. "I'm just kind of. . .bored, I guess."

"Most retirees do take up a hobby." After chewing a moment she gestured with her bottle. "Why don't you draw it instead of writing it?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Draw it?"

"Yeah, like a graphic novel. You could get someone to help write it, or hell, do it without any dialogue, if you want a challenge. You could tell your story on your terms in a medium that you're actually comfortable with." Now she was warming up to the idea. "There's even precedent. There's this famous graphic novel called Maus where a guy drew his father's stories of being in a Jewish Ghetto and Aushwitzt. Actually, you should put that on your list, it's really good."

From somewhere in his pockets he produced the little notebook he kept his list in. She noticed when he wrote things she suggested, they got a star. Starred items, he'd told her, he considered from a trustworthy source. As far as she knew, only her and Sam Wilson got a star. "That's actually kind of appealing. You know I drew some of the Captain America comic books back in the day."

"And those issues are extremely expensive now." Steve was extremely hard to buy birthday gifts for. "Publishers would be lining up to print it, you could take your time and do whatever style you like. And you'd legitimize comic books, at least for a little while."

"It would draw more attention to me. To us." It sounded like a warning, but she could tell he wanted to do it.

She shrugged. "It's been a year. I think we're hanging in there for the long haul. I can handle reporters, I carry a gun."

He laughed. "Fair enough." He chewed some of his food. "Maybe I'll do a couple of pages. Just to see."

Which probably meant she was going to spend the next few months with a temperamental artist, but he was terrible at letting himself want things. So she hid her smile in drinking her beer. "Worst case it will kill some time for you."

"Yeah," he said. A couple minutes later, she watch him flip over and open his paper napkin, and start doodling something on it.

When dinner was over she waved him away from cleaning up so he could go get his sketch book. They spent the rest of the night on his couch, Sharon watching detective shows and timing how long it took her to guess the killer and Steve drawing various characters in his pad and occasionally holding them out for her opinion.

"I feel like if I stop drawing them," he said, "I'll forget what they looked like."

She looked over at him. "I think that's pretty common when you lose people. We never trust our memories."

"I'm the only one left who does, really." He tapped his pad with his pencil. "Maybe telling my story is a necessary."

"None of them wrote any memoirs or tell-alls. I think at least partially out of respect for you." She stretched her legs out and tucked her toes under his leg. "You can give them all a legacy. A real one."

He rubbed her ankle. "Intimidating prospect." But he was Steve Rogers. Intimidating prospects turned his crank. You didn't even have to know him very well to know that.

Still, everyone needed a confidence boost now and then. "I think you're up for the challenge."

That got her a smile. "Thank you." He slid his hand up her calf. "You done with your TV show?"

She grinned, skin warming under his touch. "Yeah. The long-lost brother did it."

He didn't say anything, just reached for the remote and turned it. He wrapped one hand over each thigh and pulled her closer. She giggled reaching for him as he leaned down to kiss her. Now her weekend had officially begun.

*

Steve liked running in the morning as the sun was rising. He visited various parks all over the city—a long run in Central Park was how he'd met Sam. On mornings when Sharon slept over, she came with him and they usually went to Prospect Park a few block over from his apartment. Running at her pace didn't even cause him to break much of a sweat, but he liked the company. And the shower they usually took together afterwards.

She seemed to be pushing herself a little today, probably because she had some physical testing coming up that she wanted to do well on. He knew she was toying with the idea of taking the sergeant's exam later in the year and some high marks on her standard testing might help with that. He supposed they wouldn't get along so well if she didn't have that sort of ambition.

He was a little concerned she was going to need to be carried as they walked back to the apartment for their cool down. She'd probably kill him if he offered, though.

"If you want to shower alone, I won't judge," he told her. 

"I may need a pre-sexy shower rinse off," she admitted, draining the last of her water.

He let her take the flight of stairs up to his apartment as slowly as she wanted without teasing. "I don't mind the sweat," he commented, and she rolled her eyes. Inside, she kissed him and went to turn the water on. Steve went about preparing to cook breakfast.

A knock on his sliding glass door made him nearly drop the eggs. The back door led to a tiny balcony/fire escape and a flight of metal stairs down to the postage-stamp back yard that had sold him on this place. It had an eight foot high cinderblock fence down there. No one came in from the back.

Fighting the ridiculous urge to grab a knife—he didn't exactly need hand weapons unless it was an angry Asgardian out there, he put the eggs back in the fridge and walked over to it. He could see two people through the gauzy drapes, and he pushed them aside slowly. Out on the balcony stood a filthy and beat up Natasha Romanov and Clint Barton. He was so surprised it took him a moment to open the door.

"Uh. Hello," he said.

"I'm sorry," Nat said. "I didn't know where else to go."

"Everybody we know is trying to kill us," Clint added.

Steve blinked, and then stepped back to usher them in. "Not everybody."

They slipped inside and he noticed Nat was limping slightly. They both glanced around the apartment as Steve closed and locked the door behind them. 

"Steve?" Sharon's voice drifted from the bedroom, coming closer. "Have you started cooking yet? I'm wondering if a sexy-times shower will help my sore muscles after all."

He winced, and Nat looked at him with her eyebrows up. "We have company," he called out to Sharon, before she could come out naked. Then he looked back at Nat. "Yes, I have a girlfriend, try not to faint."

There was the sound of running footsteps heading back to the bedroom - clearly she had been roaming naked - and a door slamming shut.

Nat's eyebrows went even higher. "Suddenly I want to hear your story more than I want to tell you ours."

Steve chuckled and shook his head. He liked Nat's sense of humor. "You want some coffee?" he called, as he headed back to the kitchen.

"Yes," they said in unison. "And food," Clint added. Steve got the eggs back out of the fridge.

He was on his first batch of eggs and the spies were sitting at his breakfast bar drinking coffee when Sharon came out in her sweats, hair wet. She eyed the others warily, then looked at Steve, then back to them. "Hi. I'm Sharon." 

Nat smiled, and it was genuine. "Natasha Romanov," she said, holding out a hand. "That Clint Barton."

She shook hands with both of them. "Steve's told me a lot about you. Do either of you need medical attention other than ibuprofen?"

Clint pointed at the leg Nat had limped on, and she gave him a betrayed look. He shrugged. Sharon gave Steve an amused glance. "I know basic medical but if you need stitches or something I have a friend I can call that I trust."

They exchanged another look. "I can't go to the hospital," she said.

Before Sharon could reply, Barton slid off his stool, suddenly tense. He put his hand over the knife on his belt and said, "There's handgun on the nightstand in there." He jerked his head towards the bedroom.

Nat turned and gave him an exasperated look. "It's a Sig P226." She pointed to the coatrack by the front door. "There's a badge clipped to the left pocket of the one jacket that's obviously not Steve's. She's a cop." She rolled her eyes. " _Hawkeye_."

Sharon blinked at them, then looked at Steve. "I may be over my head with these two."

"You get used to them," he said as Clint sat back down. He served up plates of eggs to the two of them, and began cracking batch two into a bowl. "So. . . this about Fury?" he asked.

They nodded and Nat began to explain what they'd been up to for the last twenty four hours. Steve watched Sharon pour herself a cup of coffee and sit at the counter with the others. After a moment - around the time they were describing their close call in a shopping mall - she got up and retrieved the notebook she kept in her jacket that she kept case notes in. She sat back down, flipped to a new page and wrote as the story continued.

"Wait, wait," he said, cutting Nat off. "They put Zola's brain in a computer? How is that even possible?"

"Honestly, I have no idea. But don't get distracted by that, because it's surprisingly irrelevant as he's been blown up. But that's not even the problem. When he came over, he brought Hydra with him, and it. . . infected SHIELD."

He tipped his head back. "Jesus."

"Yeah," Nat said in sympathy. "They've got a manhunt going for me and Clint. I didn't want to drag you into it but all our safe houses are blown. We needed somewhere to regroup and figure next steps."

"And I think we need that doctor," Clint said. "Her leg is still bleeding."

Sharon hopped up, glancing at the clock. "I'll call her. Hope she wasn't on nights this week." She went to the bedroom to get her cell phone.

"We lost the thumb drive." Nat accepted the wad of paper towels Steve offered her and pressed them to her leg. "So we don't even have any proof. What with the fort being a crater now."

"Only SHIELD could get away with blowing a hole in New Jersey." He shook his head. "You know, I'm really not surprised they turned out to be evil."

"Looking back, there were certain signs," Clint agreed.

"But not everyone in SHIELD could launch a missile strike." Nat sipped her coffee thoughtfully. "Pierce could, but he's sitting at the top of the most defended building in the country."

Sharon reappeared. "She'll be here in ten but I promised her tea, breakfast meats and a favor to be agreed upon later in exchange for her skills and lack of questions."

"Thank you," Clint said. He looked over at Nat. "What about Sitwell?"

She tilted her head thoughtfully. "He _was_ on the Lumerian Star. And he did rise up the ranks pretty quickly." Her fingers drummed the counter. "So the question becomes how do the two most wanted people in Washington kidnap a SHIELD officer in broad daylight."

Steve slid a look over to Sharon, and raised an eyebrow.

"I had no plans for the day," she said, putting the kettle on to start tea for her friend.

Nat made a face like she'd known that was coming. "Steve - I really didn't mean to get you involved."

"I know," he said. "But I thought I'd ended Hydra. Clearly I didn't."

"Good point. I didn't really have more than a token protest. We need all the help we can get."

"I have a buddy of mine I can call, too. He may also be willing to help."

"I don't want to drag too many civilians into this," she said.

"Nah, he's a vet. Pararescue—come to think if it he could have come stitch your leg, too. He's the kind of guy who brings a knife to a gunfight and wins. He'll be an asset, if he's up for it."

"Building a regular army," Clint muttered.

"Ragtag bunch of misfits taking on superior numbers is pretty much Steve's MO," Sharon pointed out, kissing his cheek.

"What I really wish I had was my shield," he said with a sigh.

"Where did it end up?" Nat asked.

"The Smithsonian, at the moment."

She exchanged a look with Clint, who shrugged. "Not a problem."

"You're going to rob the Smithsonian?"

"That will be the easiest thing we do today."

Steve sat down to eat his own breakfast as he was starving. "You're welcome to shower," he said to the two of them. "We can dig you up some clean clothes."

Sharon's friend the ER doctor arrived just as he was finishing his food. Steve had met Dr. Newbury a few months ago, when her and Sharon's odd schedules had finally lined up long enough to share a meal. She was a blunt, practical woman with a dry sense of humor. Sharon had met her when she was a beat cop and Newbury was doing her residency. They'd clicked right away and managed to stay fairly good friends despite how rarely they saw each other.

She stitched up Nat's leg with minimal grumbling and no questions, as promised. She even gave Sharon some emergency medical supplies to give to Sam for their upcoming adventure.

Steve was showing the others where they could shower and change as Sharon said her goodbyes but he overhead the doctor say, "When this gets declassified or whatever, I'm going to want a beer and a full disclosure."

"I promise," Sharon replied. "Thank you again."

"Don't mention it. I will mention it plenty next time I need your help getting out of a parking ticket or something." He heard Sharon laugh then their voices got softer as she lead Newbury to the door.

Steve found Sharon in the kitchen. "You sure you're okay with this?" he asked.

"I'm gonna need to stop at my place to get my back up weapon and some clothes appropriate for a kidnapping." She smiled at him. "But yes, I'm sure. Nazis are ruining the agency my favorite relative spent her life building. Hell yeah I'm gonna tag along with a bunch of Avengers to take them down."

"Have I told you I love you today?"

"No." She kissed him and he held her tight a moment. "But it was kind of a hectic morning."

"When this is over, we're going to go on that vacation."

"I will buy the tiniest bikini I can find."


	2. Chapter 2

Of all the ways Sharon might have expected her weekend to go, this was not it. First, they burglarized both the Smithsonian, and a military storage facility where Sam Wilson's flight suit was. Then they kidnapped a government agent, and briefly threw him off a roof.

It only got worse from there.

Sufficed to say she was not going to get her deposit back on the rental car. Somewhere between the Hummer ramming them and the guy with the metal arm ripping the steering wheel out of her hands she switched into her training. The rest of it was a blur. She and Sam picked off minions while Nat and Clint tried to draw Mr. Metal Arm away. She got to shoot an RPG which would have been crazy fun had she been on the range and not shooting at a person.

Still, in the end, corrupt government agency beat ragtag group of misfits and she ended up handcuffed in the back of a van next to her shellshocked boyfriend and a spy bleeding heavily from her shoulder.

"It was him," Steve said. "I'd know his face anywhere. That was Bucky."

"How is that possible?" Sam asked. "That was seventy years ago."

Sharon eyed the restraints they had locked Steve in and thought about the hand that yanked a steering wheel out like she would pluck a flower petal. "I believe you," she said quietly.

He turned and looked at her, looking more heartbroken than anything. "I don't know how," he said. "But it was him, and he looked at me like he didn't even know me."

She reached over and put a hand on his knee, at a loss of words. Nat looked like she was fading fast and Clint yelled about getting a doctor. Which was when one of their guards knocked the other one out and revealed herself to be someone Steve and the other SHIELD people knew.

"Rogers? Did you get a girlfriend?"

Steve just looked at her, but Clint exclaimed, "Hill! You're not evil."

"Neither are you," she replied. "I admit, I was a little surprised." She pulled out a laser torch and looked over at Sam. "How many extra people did you rope in to your wacky hijinks?" 

"I'm Sam, I'm the sidekick. She's Sharon, the love interest." He held out his wrists. "I'm also a medic, cut mine first."

"Huh. I'd have put real money on that being the other way around." She cut his ties then went through everyone else's. Steve's took a little doing while Sam put pressure on Nat's wound. 

They changed vans during a stop at a traffic light, then Maria drove them out of the city to what appeared to be an old dam. A man who was clearly a doctor or medic of some sort met them and he and Sam started talking shop until Maria detoured them into what appeared to be a makeshift hospital room.

Sharon recognized the man in the bed from the news and pictures on the walls at Peggy's house. And maybe it was being partially raised by the original SHIELD director, but somehow she wasn't even surprised he was still alive. Peggy would have pulled the same trick, had it ever come to it. The rest of them looked shocked, however, and she curled her fingers around Steve's, holding tight to his hand as the medic started to work on Nat's shoulder and Nick Fury started listing all the damage that had been done to him and how he'd pulled off his little trick and why.

When he was done, he looked right at her and she met his gaze as if she belonged there. "Sharon Carter," he said and that didn't really surprise her either.

"Director Fury," she replied, as if they were meeting a a garden party and not in the middle of a national crisis.

"I changed your diaper once," he informed her.

She didn't miss a beat. "I'm gonna chalk that overshare up to whatever pain meds you're on, sir."

"I wanted you to come work for me," he said. "Peggy told me over her dead body—no, over _my_ dead body. 85 years old and limping with a cane and she still scared me." He closed his eyes and sighed.

"Turn the morphine down," Hill said to the doctor. "We all need to talk."

They parted ways briefly for Nat to finish getting her stitches, Fury to put some real clothes on and the rest of them to splash water on their faces and rummage in what passed for the kitchen to see what sort of supplies they had.

Sharon found herself alone briefly, sitting in a stiff backed wooden chair, eating fruit cocktail right out of the can. Steve came in, looking haggard and every inch of his ninety-odd years. "Hey," she said softly. "I cobbled together a couple thousand calories for you." She gestured at the MREs she'd laid claim to.

He sunk into the chair and sighed heavily. "Thank you."

She reached out to stroke his hair, then rub his back. "You hanging in there?"

"Hell if I know," he replied, tearing open on of the MREs without even looking at the flavor.

After he'd gotten a few bites in she asked, "You want to talk?"

"My closest friend came back from the dead as a metal-armed Hydra assassin. I don't even know how to start unpacking that."

Yeah, she still didn't have any platitudes for that. She stood and moved to stand by his chair, wrapping her arms around him. "Whatever happens, I'm right here with you."

He pressed his arms over hers. "This is only going to get more dangerous."

"I know." She kissed the top of his head. "But I'd rather be with you than sitting at home waiting for word."

"Well. You're probably on Zola's hit list anyway. Nothing in your file says 'docile'."

She chuckled. "See? I'm just here out of self preservation."

He pushed his chair out so he could pull her into his lap, simply eating around her. "The million dollar question is, what do we do?"

"The Insight helicarriers can't get airborne. So we stop them, by any means necessary."

He rubbed his forehead. "Got any black market RPGs?"

"It's a big dam. Maybe there's an armory."

Turned out Hill had something better, if more complicated. Computer chips that would neutralize Project Insight if installed on the carriers. Fury seemed to have hope of salvaging something of SHIELD but Steve had clearly had enough.

"SHIELD, Hydra. . . it all goes."

Fury looked stunned when Hill agreed. Nat and Clint didn't say anything, but their loyalties were written on their faces. He looked to Sam, who shrugged. "I do what he does, just slower."

And then the Director's gaze fell on her. "Carter."

She was pretty sure that was deliberate. Steve was standing behind her and she could feel him tense. For a moment she felt a little lost, stuck in the shadow she'd been pretty determined not to live in. But she knew the answer anyway. And not just because she loved Steve. "It all goes," she said quietly. "If she was here she'd be swinging the sledgehammer herself."

"Good," he said firmly. "Let's get to work."

The plan was pretty simple when you said it out loud: infiltrate the Triskelion, take out Pierce, board the helicarriers and blow the whole thing. In reality the plan required a hell of a lot of things going exactly right for them, something Sharon didn't have a lot of faith in. Still, they managed to take over the radio room pretty easily. And Steve did know how to give a rousing speech.

They all had their parts. Sharon's was to man comms and the control room, hitting the button to fire and destroy the helicarriers when given the go. There had been a fight about it—Clint had really wanted Nat to do it since she had a hole in her shoulder. But they needed her computer skills upstairs, and Steve was insistent that whomever was in the control room be able to fight. If Hydra got in there, everything else was for naught.

Steve and Sam had run off to catch the carriers and Hill was down in the control room doing her best to rally the troops and get them back up. Sharon felt a little helpless just sitting there, especially when the carriers started to take off. She caught bits of Steve and Sam's comm chatter and Hill checked in a few times.

The first carrier was locked, then the second. Two Hydra red-shirts tried to take back the room and she dispatched them before they were in the door. "We have six minutes, boys," she warned, watching the chaos on various cameras. It looked like the SHIELD pilots had tried to scramble, only to be stopped by-

Oh shit.

"You're gonna have company on Charlie carrier."

"I see him," Steve said, sounding as weary as his 95 years.

More than ever, she wished she was by his side. She still didn't have any words of wisdom, though. "I love you," she said.

"You too," he replied, and then she heard him talking to Barnes, trying to convinced him to stop. "Please don't make me do this," he said, in a voice that broke her heart.

If Barnes replied she didn't hear it. She did hear the sound of Steve's shield clanging on metal, so clearly the plea hadn't worked. Nat and the others were about to get company, so she sent Sam up to help them, then gave Hill a head's up on a group of scientists pinned in by Hydra thugs on one of the lower floors.

The fight sounds had slowed, and the big countdown on her monitor had ticked under sixty seconds. "Steve you've got less than a minute."

"Stand by," he said with a grunt of pain and she winced in sympathy.

She heard gunshots, separate and precise, a noise of pain from Steve as each one hit. All she could do was listen to the sound of his breathing. On her screen the targeting algorithm engaged, saturating the eastern seaboard with a million little red dots. Steve was right, she was almost certainly on there, along with God knew how many friends and relatives.

Her hands hovered over the touch panels helplessly. "C'mon, Steve," she whispered.

The screen flickered and the red dots disappeared. "Charlie lock," he gasped in her ear piece.

She sagged in relief. "Good job, baby. Now get out of there." She tapped in the new algorithm and watched the helicarriers start targeting each other.

"Pierce is dead," Clint reported over the radio from the helicopter he'd taken Fury in on. "We're on our way."

Steve's breathing was labored. "Stay clear, I'm gonna jump in the river. Sharon, fire now." 

Well, falling into water was safer than most of his jumps. "Firing." She punched in the code and watched through the window as the helicarriers tore each other apart. Then she grabbed her gear and headed for the stairs.

"I'm going to the water to find Steve," she called in after Sam made his rather dramatic exit.

His voice came over the comm again. He must have activated it accidentally because he wasn't talking to any of them, he was very obviously talking to Barnes. He was arguing with Barnes.

He was _still_ up there.

She gripped the handrail and closed her eyes as the building shuddered. Yelling at him wouldn't do any good. She'd say something she regretted and that wasn't fair to either of them. So she kept running, listening to them fight until something exploded close enough to hurt her ear and then there was silence.

The last helicarrier went down in the middle of the river. The building was collapsing as she cleared it, heading onto the thankfully unscathed bridge where other people who had made it out were running. Somewhere above her she could hear Clint and Natasha yelling at each other on the radio about how they didn't see anything.

Most of the wreckage had hit a few hundred yards down the river. Once she was across the bridge she made her way down to the shore and started walking, scanning the water for any sign of him or his shield. 

It was very hard not to think of certain depressing parallels. Radio conversation. Mission that becomes suicidal after defeating the bad guy. An aircraft hitting water.

"I swear to God, Rogers," she muttered under her breath, glad she'd thought to turn her mic off. The sound of her voice was oddly comforting and distracted her from her thoughts. "If you wake up again in seventy years you better not hook up with my great-granddaughter. And if you do, you better not ever talk to her on a radio."

A twig snapped to her left, and when she turned, there in the woods stood the Winter Soldier, beat up and soaking wet. For a moment she wondered if he was going to kill her, and they stared at each other. Then he turned and pointed. She glanced in that direction, and when she looked back, he was gone.

She ran, stumbling over a root and skidding in the mud when she reached the bank. There was Steve, bloody and bruised, with one eye swollen shut and at least three bullet wounds that she could see. But he was breathing. Deep boot prints lead out of the river and there were clear marks when Steve had been dragged.

Deciding to sort that all out later she hit her mic back on, dropping to her knees. "I've got him. He's badly hurt, but alive. Repeat, I found Steve, he's on the south bank about a quarter mile from the Trisk."

"Is there space for me to land?" Clint asked.

"Not really, except for the road. I can't carry him."

"Stand by," he said, then a moment later. "I'm coming close enough for Sam to jump, and then we'll meet you at the road." 

"Got it." She leaned on the wound in his stomach, putting pressure on it and kept an eye on the sky. "Hang in there, baby," she whispered.

The chopper came close, she could hear it, and then two minutes later, Sam knelt next to her. He took a pulse and made an exam. He was cursing under his breath. "I really need a backboard, I'm afraid this hit his spine. Barton called for an ambulance, we may need to wait for them. I don't think we should move him." He pointed at her. "Give me your shirt."

She stripped it off obediently and handed it over, hunching her shoulders at the cold breeze coming off the water. He ripped open Steve's uniform and used it to help staunch the blood on the worst wound. His own clothes were soaked from being dropped in the river. "Don't you dare fucking die on me, Rogers. You dragged me into this, I am not having any bullshit." 

It probably said something about Steve - or the people he drew to him - that they all showed their concern via yelling at him.

Sam worked on him until they heard the sirens and she hiked up to the road to get the EMTs attention. At the hospital they rushed him through swinging doors she was clearly not allowed to go through. A nice nurse got her a scrub shirt to put on and then there was nothing to do but wait.

Sam sat with her in the waiting room, and told her the story of how he'd lost his wingman in Afghanistan. Eventually Natasha and Clint showed up, having returned Director Fury to the dam to continue hiding. 

"I'm sorry we dragged you into this," Nat said. "All of you."

Sharon shrugged, watching the doors they'd taken Steve through. "We didn't exactly kick and scream. And I don't know that it would have worked without us. At least not without him."

"What was the target count?" Sam asked.

If she closed her eyes she could picture the counter scrolling up. "Seven hundred and fifteen thousand. Give or take. And that was just on the East Coast."

"He'd think that was worth it. Whatever happens."

She nodded, eyes still closed. "Yes, he would."

The doors opened, and the nurse who'd given her the shirt came out. She looked at Sharon expectantly, and Sharon stood. "He's out of surgery and doing well. Once we have him settled in a room, you can come see him."

Relief flooded her and she felt Sam stand up next to her to brace her. "Thank you," she managed to get out.

She nodded. "The doctor will be out to talk to you in a few minutes."

"Do you want me to run and get you some clothes?" Nat asked.

Sharon shook her head. "No. It's all right. Just. . . give me a second." She stood and walked to the other side of the waiting room and pulled out her phone.

It barely rang twice before being answered. "Sharon? What's happened? Are you all right?"

Tears choked her throat but she smiled. "Hi, Mom. It's kind of a long story."


	3. Chapter 3

Steve came awake slowly. He was disoriented and foggy, not sure where he was, but very sure his entire body hurt, particularly his head. Music was playing. He opened his eyes and saw Sharon in a chair beside the hospital bed he was in. "Detective," he said, his voice scratchy.

She put down her book and looked over at him. "Colonel."

He searched her face, which was free of even the smallest scratch. "You okay?"

"Yeah." She shifted to come stand by the side of his bed. "Couple of bruises where a building tried to fall on me. But all in all pretty good." Her hand hovered over his face but she dropped it before touching him. "Better than you, anyway."

"My head is killing me." Talking made his face hurt, too, and was surprisingly hard to talk normally. He could really move the left side of his mouth. Feeling it revealed a long run of stitches there. He was surprised his jaw wasn't broken; he knew his cheekbone was. And who knew what else. "He shot me four times, stabbed me at least twice." He gestured at his face. "Punched me a lot with the metal arm." 

"Your doctor said you looked like you'd repeatedly run into a brick wall." She caught his hand. "But you're healing like you should be and the worst is over. You look a hell of a lot better than you did this morning."

He squeezed her fingers. "He was trapped under a beam. I went to help him, and then he resumed trying to kill me." He closed his eyes. Bucky seemed to have recognized him near the end. He wondered if that was why he was still alive.

"I heard you trying to talk to him," Sharon said, stroking his knuckles. "Over the comm. I think - I think he dragged you out of the river."

That got him to look at her. "He what?"

"After I got out of the building I went down to the water to look for you. I ran into him, in the trees. He just stared at me for a second, then he pointed back where he'd come. When I looked back at him he was gone. I found you right where he'd pointed and there were footprints and drag marks coming out of the water."

He sighed. Maybe he'd gotten through after all. "Maybe he finally remembered me."

"Maybe," she agreed. And she really did sound like she believed it. "No one's been able to find him. Though they did pull your shield out of the river. The Smithsonian is being pretty cool about the whole stealing thing."

"So we won't be going to jail?"

"Not as far as I've been told. There's a guard at the door-" She gestured in the general direction of the hallway. "But he's friendly. Nat says they're trying to hide you from any fall out."

"Hey," he said. "Thank you for firing when I told you to."

"I trusted you," she said softly. "Though for my own sanity I really don't want to have any more life-or-death conversations with you on a radio."

"I'd personally like to not have any more life-or-death _situations_."

"That is something we can agree on. Wholeheartedly."

There was a knock on the door, and then a man came in. "Good afternoon, Captain Rogers. I'm Dr. Hardwick. You're a very lucky man."

"Most of the time," he replied, more reflex than anything else.

It made the doctor smile, in any case. "None of us are entirely familiar with your. . . unique healing abilities, so prognosis is a little difficult to pin down. I'd like to get some food in you today and take it step by step from there until we can get you back on your feet."

"How long will I be in the hospital?"

He tilted his head back and forth. "A lot of that depends on both how you heal, and your living situation. Do you live alone?"

He sighed, nodded, and added, "In a second floor walkup."

Hardwick clicked his tongue. "That will slow things down a bit."

"If he had someone living with him would that significantly decrease hospital time?" Sharon piped up.

The doctor nodded. "As long as he didn't require IVs and could get to the bathroom alone I'd be comfortable sending him home on bed rest. Without someone, you'd need to be much farther along in your recovery."

Sharon glanced at him. "So, this probably isn't the _ideal_ time to make this decision."

He closed his eyes. The headache made it hard to think, particularly with his eyes open. "I own my place outright. Not like you'll need to chip in. You can keep your place for a while if you want to, as a back up."

"I should at least make a good faith effort to find a sub-letter." She squeezed his hand and added, clearly to the doctor, "He won't be alone."

"All right, then. I'll have them bring you some food and we'll monitor for the rest of the day, see if we can put together a game plan. For now, do you want me to turn your pain meds up?"

"Will that help the headache?" Just the sound of the man's voice hurt.

There was a slight pause. "Yes. Is the head pain significant?"

"Yes," he bit out.

He sensed motion on his left, then the doctor's voice again, softer, "I've turned this up, you should get relief pretty fast. I'm going to put in an order for a CT scan, just to make sure there's nothing going on that we missed."

Things got fuzzy and warm, and he tugged on Sharon's hand. "Stay."

"I'm here." He felt, faintly, the brush of a kiss on his forehead. "Not going anywhere."

He drifted a while. A different doctor came in and said something about due this unique some-thing-or-other, they were going to do an MRI. Then his next dose of painkillers kicked in, and he was out again.

When he woke, it was dark an cold. He was in some sort of container. His first thought was a coffin, like they'd thought he was dead and buried him. He'd been dead before. Buried. And frozen. A thread of fear surged through him, and suddenly all he could think of was that plane he'd been trapped in. His arms seemed to be strapped down, but it didn't feel too hard to break the straps. 

Then a deafening metal clanging began, coming at him from all sides, and he was operating on pure panic and instinct. A minutes later he was out of it, and realized two things: his head didn't hurt anymore, and he'd just broken a very expensive MRI machine.

A door opened to his left and Sharon leaned in. "Steve?"

He could feel his face heat. "Hi." He tried to climb of the table he'd scrambled out onto, and his legs gave out under him.

She rushed over and helped him sit up. "You okay?" she asked quietly, clearly talking about more than his little stumble.

"I think I'm claustrophobic," he muttered. "What's wrong with my legs?"

"Bullet grazed your spine," she said matter-of-factly. "Anybody else would never walk again. You just bruised it."

"Ah." He looked over at the machine and sighed. "I don't know what happened."

She rubbed his back. "I'm sorry, baby. They thought you'd sleep through the whole scan, but I guess you're processing the narcotics faster than expected. Does your head still hurt?"

"Surprisingly, no."

"Well, I guess that's a good sign."

The door opened again and Dr. Hardwick came in pushing an empty wheelchair. "I'd call it a very good sign," he confirmed. He parked the chair next to them and crouched down to take Steve's pulse. "I apologize for the rude awakening. I honestly didn't expect you to wake up so quickly. Gauging your medication is very tricky."

"The headache was the worst," he said. "Otherwise I have a high pain tolerance."

"We weren't able to get a usable scan from the MRI, but given the rate in which you're healing I suspect you had a skull fracture that we missed that has since healed itself. Which brings the number of injuries you sustained that should have killed you up to three." He finished his exam and leaned back. "Ready to try getting in the chair?"

"Yes," he said, even though he really didn't want to get into a wheelchair. 

Sharon and the doctor helped him up and into the chair. "Right. I'm going to update your chart. Detective, if you'd like to take him back to his room there should be some food waiting for you both."

As she rolled him into the hallway, he leaned his head back so he could look up at her. "Sorry you have to be my nurse."

"Don't apologize." She leaned down to kiss him upside down. "Maybe I have some sort of Florence Nightingale kink I never told you about."

"Well. Now you have my attention."

She smiled. "I love you. I am. . . very grateful you're alive and well enough to be annoyed at your infirmity." He saw her swallow hard. "I am perfectly happy to take care of you for a while."

"I promise to try not to be a terrible patient."

"If you are, I'm sure you'll make it up to me later."

Steve had a double room, but because of the security concerns the hospital didn't put another patient in it. Even though they weren't supposed to, they let Sharon sleep in it. Just having here there made it easier to sleep. But he was very grateful when he was finally released two days later. The drive north was miserable, and the fact that it took both Sam and Clint to get him up the stairs into his apartment was a touch mortifying. But he was so very glad to be home.

There was a walker and variety of canes already waiting for them, courtesy of Sharon's doctor friend. He was grateful she'd been resisting the wide variety of old man jokes that she'd almost certainly thought of.

"So I talked to my landlord," she said once he was settled on the couch with a heating pad and a tray of food. "His daughter is graduating college at the end of May and he'd like to give her my apartment. So, I have five weeks to move out and he's not going to charge me for May."

He watched her while he ate. "You okay with that?"

"I'm probably going to have to call a couple of all-hands on deck weekends and buy a lot of pizza and beer, but I think I can do it. I don't have a ton of stuff and I can sell off most of my furniture. Hell, maybe I can leave some of it for the daughter."

"If there's anything you want to bring here, even if we have to chuck some of my stuff. . ."

"Your stuff is nicer than mine." She sat on the other end of the couch and stretched her legs out towards him. "I have an easy chair I'm fond of and an antique vanity I'd like to wedge in somewhere. But otherwise I think I can fit everything else in a box."

"I sleep better with you," he said after a moment. "I always hated the nights you were home."

"Baby. You should have said something."

"Please move in with me because I can't sleep? Hell of a sales pitch, there."

She poked him with her toes. "I'm sure you could have thought of other reasons. No more rent. 24/7 access to your pectorals. Your Indian place is better than mine. The list goes on."

He grinned at her. "So this deal requires me to be constantly shirtless?"

"I would consider it a perk," she said solemnly.

"Well. Maybe not right now." His torso was kind of a mess of healing wounds. They would vanish in time—he didn't scar—but at the moment it wasn't pretty.

"Of course. When you're feeling better."

"I know how much things have shifted in the last 70 years, but I have to admit I still fee vaguely like we're going to get in trouble with. . . someone, for just moving in together."

She grinned. "I'm sure Dad would come wave a shotgun around if you really needed him to."

"I don't think I need any more bullets, thank you."

"Mmm, good point." Her toes rubbed his leg gently. "I did spend my days and nights off here most of the time. It was probably well past due."

"You did already take over the bathroom, and at least half he closet."

"And you've been very gracious about my encroaching." She grinned, then sobered. "I would like to contribute somehow. With the bills."

He shook his head. "You don't need to, everything is more than covered."

"I know you said there was no rent but you must have taxes, utilities. Let me pay the water bill or something."

She had a very stubborn look on her face, so he said, "You do take a lot of long showers."

"That's right, I do." At least she was a gracious winner. "I'm happy about it. I miss you when I'm home. It's lonely."

"I miss sleeping with you tucked up against me."

She smiled fondly and he swore her cheeks pinked a little. "And now we'll sleep next to each other every night."

He reached out for her. "Come here." She shifted, but seemed hesitant about putting any weight on him. So he tugged her firmly across his chest.

Sharon sighed and tucked her head under his chin. "This was not how I thought my weekend would go."

He pressed his face into her hair. "I know. I'm sorry," he whispered. "But I'm really glad you were there."

"You don't have to apologize. I chose to go. I'm glad I got to help. But I am very, very happy to be back in our quiet little walk-up with the comfy couch blankets and Netflix."

Steve had started to wonder, as he came out of the painkiller fog over the last day or two, if he could really just go back to his life, knowing Bucky was out there somewhere. Knowing he survived. It didn't entirely matter at the moment, he had to heal first. But later, they should talk about it. "Right now that sounds perfect."

*

The next few weeks were exhausting. Steve didn't need 24/7 care, but he was still healing, so Sharon took time off work so she was free to cook and run errands and take him to a couple check ups. In between, she packed her apartment and sold off what she couldn't. Her brothers came up one weekend, bringing Matt's truck to haul the big stuff. And she bribed Sam, some of her friends from the precinct and Amanda and her sister with pizza and candy to do one all day and into the night packing binge to get the rest of it done. 

By the second week of May she was fully moved into Steve's place, though they were still tripping over boxes here and there, and he was more or less at full strength. She went back to work full time and they fell into a new rhythm, similar to their old one.

He had started working on his graphic novel, covering the section of the living room he'd dedicated as his office/studio with sketches and notes, taping them along the wall behind his desk as he tried to sort the story out. He always had food cooking whenever she got home after her shift.

The guys at work had started teasing her about her house husband, but it worked. After they ate together he squeezed more sketching in while she cleaned up and then they would watch TV or she would catch up on paperwork or reading. He was a little neater than her and he ate almost as quickly as she could buy food, but for the most part they managed to work out their differences without bickering.

Sometimes, especially if she was up late or awake early, she had the vague sense of being watched. Like an itch between her shoulder blades. But she chalked it up to stress and not being used to having an apartment with a yard and didn't think of it.

They hadn't talked about the vacation again, which was just as well as she was low on vacation days. Maybe by the holidays they could revisit the topic.

She came home from work one night and the kitchen was dark. Steve was at his desk, leaning back and staring into space.

Concerned, she shed her work stuff and went over to him. "Hey. Bad day?"

He tossed the pencil he was chewing on back onto the desk. "I got to Azzano and got stuck."

Rubbing his back, she kissed his hair. "Bucky?"

"They experimented on him. Zola and his minions. I didn't pay enough attention at the time, I was just so glad to have found him alive." 

"That would explain how he survived. . . whatever Hydra was doing to him."

"If I'd known, I would have gone and looked for him after he fell."

"I know you would have." She hugged him, leaning on his back and looking at the sketches he'd been working on. She counted five heartbeats before adding, "You want to go after him now."

"I'd never find him. Where would I even start looking?"

She rested her chin on his shoulder. "Maybe there's a clue in the data dump?"

He sighed. "Maybe." He reached up and rubbed her arm. "Or maybe it's a fools errand. He tried to kill me."

But they he'd maybe, probably saved Steve's life. She didn't say it, because he knew both sides and playing devil's advocate would only spin him up further. "Whatever you want to do, I'll help however I can."

"I know," he said. "Thank you."

She kissed his cheek. "Tell you what. I'll go get us some take-out and hit the bodega. This feels like a good night for baking cookies."

"I'm sorry about dinner," he said. "I was just. . ." he rubbed his eyes. "Lost in thought."

"It's all right. Really."

"Cookies sound wonderful," he told her. She nodded and gave him a little squeeze before straightening and heading back out the door. 

It was generally better to give him space when he was having a bad time, even if she was worried. Maybe she could talk to Sam and see if he could get something out of him. Steve tended to be a big ball of PTSD symptoms even before DC and Bucky and all of that. Now it was like he was starting all over again.

On her way back home, laden down with Thai food and cookie ingredients, she had that feeling of being watched again. She stopped at the front walk and looked around. No creep hiding in the bushes, no nosy neighbor peeking through the curtains. She shook herself and dug her keys out but the feeling didn't abate. She was starting to think it wasn't all in her head.

Steve had cleaned up the kitchen and set the table. He'd even put the oven on. "You okay?" he asked.

She set her bags on the counter and resisted the urge to look at the balcony. "I don't know. Had a weird moment outside. Thought I was being watched, but there was no one."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "You want me to go look?"

"I don't know. I'm sure it was nothing." She started unpacking eggs and chocolate chips.

"You're instincts are pretty good."

"Usually." She rubbed a hand over her face. "If it happens again I'll let you know. I'm probably just out of sorts tonight."

He wrapped his arms around her waist. "Scratch cookies. You do love me."

"I do not comfort with sub-par cookies."

They had thai food and cookies, and then started kissing in the kitchen. He scooped her up before they could get to the dinner mess, and carried her into the bedroom. She didn't want him to be upset, but she _had_ noticed that the sex was particularly intense when he was in a dark mood.

He wore her out thoroughly and she fell asleep planning to get up a little early to deal with the kitchen mess for him. When she did wake up and make her way to the kitchen to start coffee she found their take out boxes in the trash and the plate of cookie emptier than they'd left it,

For a few moments she stood in the center of the room, formulating and discarding theories. There was no way Steve had done it. Even if he'd managed to get in and out of bed without waking her, he wouldn't have done a half-assed job cleaning. The baking stuff was still on the counter and filling the sink. The cookies were uncovered and the left overs were _gone_ not stored in the fridge or in the trash.

Working on those instincts he'd praised the night before, she went out to the back yard and pretended it was a crime scene. It was spring and while they'd seen a few nice days it hadn't been consistent enough to hang out in the yard. So when she found the deep foot print in the mud near the fence she knew it wasn't from Steve. In fact, it reminded her of other footprints she'd seen in very different mud a month ago.

She went back inside and cleaned the kitchen and headed for work without mentioning anything to Steve. At lunch, she went out and bought a sturdy back pack and filled it with bottled water, some canned fruit, shelf stable snacks, a swiss army knife and some socks and underwear. After a long debate with herself she added a note _Do you need anything?_

When she got home dinner was simmering and she could hear Steve in the shower. So she took the backpack out to the patio and left it at the base of the stairs.

In the morning, the backpack was gone. There was a brick on the step instead, and when she picked it up there was a note under it. _Is he okay?_

She sat down on the steps and covered her mouth with a hand. Despite leaving the bag out there part of her hadn't really believed it was him. Had thought she was being paranoid or imagining things. But now she was looking at a note in handwriting that was blocky and uncertain and asking about Steve.

That night she left a pad of paper and a pen and a note saying, _He's healed. But he's worried about you._

Sure enough, he replied during the night. _None of it is his fault._

This time, she went back inside and into the bedroom, where Steve was starting to get dressed to go running. "I need to tell you something."

He stopped and straightened slowly, one shoe in his hand. "What's wrong?"

"You remember the other night I told you I thought someone was watching me when I was outside?" He nodded slowly. "The next morning, there was some food missing and I found a footprint in the yard. And I know it sounds crazy but I just. . . I thought maybe it was Bucky so I left some supplies out and a note and. . . he wrote me back."

Steve looked stunned. "He—what did he say?"

"He asked if you were okay. I replied that you were healed but worried. And this morning he left this." She held out the note that had been under the brick.

He stared at it. "I don't understand, why doesn't he just knock?"

"I don't know," she said honestly. "But I'm guessing he has a case of PTSD that neither of us can begin to understand. Maybe he feels like he doesn't deserve it. Or he's trying to sort stuff out on his own. Maybe he doesn't trust himself to be around people full time yet. But he's here and he's safe and he's reaching out. That has to count for something."

"If he needs to steal food from us, I don't know that he's safe."

"Okay, point. But considering some of the worse case scenarios, it's not as bad as it could be,"

For a moment he looked at a loss. "I don't know what to do."

Stepping closer, she touched his hand. "I think for now we play by his rules. Write him notes, leave him supplies. And hope he gets comfortable enough to knock one day."

He tugged on her hand, pulling her into his lap. "Now I just have to figure out what to say."

"You could show him some of your drawings. That might trigger something. I assume you drew when he knew you."

"That is not a bad idea. . ." She could see him actually smiling a little.

"And I'll stop and get some more supplies for him, so he will be safe and comfortable until he's ready to come in."

"He really likes chocolate bars. Or he did, anyway."

She smiled. "I will happily introduce him to the magic of modern candy."

Steve kissed her shoulder. "Thank you. For everything."

"You're welcome." She slid her arms around him and hugged him tightly. "I love you."

"I love you, too. Texting you that day is still the best thing I've ever done." 

Sharon wasn't much of a believer in God or fate. But sometimes she thought about the string of coincidences that had led to them meeting and it made her wonder. It certainly seemed like there'd been some sort of plan to it all.

She held him tighter, listening to his heartbeat and hoping this was some sort of turning point for him and Bucky.


	4. Chapter 4

That night, Steve assembled the first section of his book, notes and text and sketches, and put them in a binder. He taped a note on the inside of the cover. _I'm telling our story. I thought you might like to see the rough draft._

They left it out on the stairs with an all weather sleeping bag and some new clothes. It was tempting to sit up all night and wait for him, but Sharon shooed him to bed and distracted him enough to forget about it.

In the morning there was a piece of paper pinned under the brick. _You forgot the fish monger we used to con._

The reply delighted him, and he left a note in return. _As I recall, there was a spit-swear to never speak of that again._

_It's good to know spit-swears last beyond death. Can you ask Sharon to get more of the Kit-Kats?_

"Apparently modern candy has won him over," Steve told her.

He showed her the note and she grinned. "Kit Kats are hard to resist."

"He remembers our childhood. And he knows who you are."

"By name." She kissed his cheek and went back to flipping pancakes. "I suppose that means he approves."

He watched her for a moment. "What would you think about getting one of those prepaid phones and putting it out there for him?"

"I think it's a great idea. Our relationship was based on phones, the tradition should continue." She glanced at him. "Did you think I wouldn't want you to?"

"No. I just wasn't sure if he'd think it was too much."

"Well, there's no guarantee he'll answer or use it. But I think the tone of his notes is a good sign."

"I was just going to leave a note asking him to text me. Seemed better than a sentence a day. And it's a medium I have a soft spot for. Good for bonding while maintaining distance."

She smiled fondly. "The vague sense of anonymity is nice."

"Okay," he said, leaning over to steal a pancake off the plate. "I'll get one on the next trip out. Worst case I've wasted fifty bucks."

He left the phone in a plastic bag with a note and more candy bars. In the morning he woke to a series of texts.

_Test_

_This seems inefficient._

_And does not recognize my left hand._

_Twix are my new favorite._

_They didn't have candy like this when we were young, right? That's not just some huge, unfortunate gap in my memory?_

_Tell Sharon thank you for the warm socks._

Excited, he shook Sharon awake and showed her the messages. "It worked."

She peered blearily at the phone a moment. "He seems to have embraced it thoroughly, in fact."

He grinned, and sat up to reply. _Food of all kinds is better than when we were young._

The next text came a few moments later. _There was shelf stable milk in the first emergency kit. I was skeptical, but it was good. Also, Frosted Mini Wheats are way better than anything that came out of a box before._

_Sharon knows how to pack a go bag, let me tell you._

_She almost spotted me a couple of times. Where did you find her?_

_I texted her by accident._

_I see your stupid luck survived to the future._

_She's also Peggy's niece. But that was entirely accidental. Sharon's the best thing that's ever happened to me._

There was a longer pause this time. Sharon rolled over and tucked into his side. He curled an arm around her and rubbed her back idly as he waited. Then his phone buzzed. _I remember Peggy. Red dress, smart mouth. Commiserated about your complete lack of self preservation._

He stared at the phone for a moment, then replied. _Yeah, that only got worse after you died._

_I read about the plane and he ice. At the museum._

_The Smithsonian?_

_That. I went after. Read about me and you and the Commandos. It's when things started to come back to me._

_I didn't know how much you remembered. I have pages from the book about the war._

_The war is hazier. I write a lot of stuff down to help sort it out. The late thirties seems to be the strongest._

_I'll leave the binder out tonight. Maybe it will help._

_Thank you._ There was a brief pause. _Are you going to publish the comic?_

_Not if you don't want me to_

_Are you going to tell the more recent stuff?_

_I don't know. This one only goes as far as the ice. It's a hero's tale. The modern world is murkier._

_I'm all right with the old stuff. Murky is probably a kind word for my current state._

_It was like that when I woke up. It gets better._

Sharon's alarm went off and he watched her roll out of bed and stumble to the bathroom as he waited for Bucky's reply. _It was rough the first couple weeks after the river. I didn't know how to function or make decisions. It's a little easier. I have routines._

He debated his next question carefully. _Are you staying somewhere safe?_

_I'm told the legal term is squatting, but yeah. More or less._

_Good._ It was a start. More or less. 

Much like texting Sharon had been, his conversations with Bucky became a regular feature of Steve's day. Or night; Bucky kept odd hours. Steve would leave pages out of him, and started getting them back marked up with notes 

"For a semi-amnesiac he's kind of a grammar nazi," Sharon commented, reading over his shoulder one evening while they waited for dinner to cook. 

"He was always really smart. Smarter than me." 

"Well, he was a sniper, right? They do physics in their head." She kissed his cheek, straightening. "Any requests for his care package today?" 

"I was thinking we should get him some fancy chocolate. You know, the expensive stuff." 

She tilted her head, considering. "There's a chocolatier near Amanda's apartment that she swears by. I'll get the name from her and get him a box." 

"You think he'll ever come inside?" he asked her. 

"I think he will. The texting is helping. His personality is starting to show through." 

His phone beeped. _I should get some credit on this book of yours._

_Seriously, nothing would make me happier,_ Steve replied. 

_Co-author, at least._

Sharon kissed his temple and went to the kitchen to see to dinner. He watched her a moment, thinking about how long they'd hidden behind their text conversation. _I really miss you, you know._

He tried not to overthink the long pause that followed that. _We talk constantly._

_I know. But it isn't the same._

_I've thought about it. It's hard to be around people. I like this, it feels safe._ After another pause, he added, _I'll think about it._

That was something, he supposed. _I don't want to upset you._

_I know. I appreciate you being patient._

_Take all the time you need,_ he replied. Then he put the phone down and went over to the kitchen to watch Sharon cook. "It harder than I thought it would be," he said after a moment.

She looked over at him, tasting spoon in her mouth. "What is?" 

He sunk into on of the stools at the breakfast bar. "This. . .limbo." 

"With Bucky?" 

"He's out there squatting in what I can only assume is an abandoned building. He marks up my novel and reminisces freely, but he's afraid to actually talk to me." 

She didn't answer right away, stirring the soup and adding some pepper and salt. "Maybe it's time to talk to some professionals for advice." 

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean, we've been kind of stumbling around doing our best, but neither of us are experts in PTSD or trauma recovery. I know you dealt with a lot when you woke up, but it's not really the same situation. I don't know that Bucky's issues have as much to do with loneliness and feeling out of place as they do with trying to cope with what was done to him and figuring out who he is now." 

"Nobody knows about this except for you. He's probably some kind of war criminal." 

She pulled out a couple of bowls and dished out the soup. "I know. And I'm not suggesting we take him to the hospital or anything. But you trusted Sam to have your back going into battle, maybe you can trust him on this." 

He got spoons from the drawer. "That's true." 

They met at the table and she set the soup down, then went back to the counter for the bread bowl and toppings. "He might not have much advice, but he knows more about PTSD then the two of us put together and might be able to make us a road map. How to encourage him, how to make him feel safe." She sank into her seat. 

"It's a good idea," he told her. "Thank you." He had no idea how he'd manage half of this without her. 

"You're welcome." She looked over at him. "He makes you happy. Even like this. I've never seen you smile as much as you do when you're texting him. Anything I can do to keep that going, I'll do it." 

"I smiled like that when I texted you. Ask Sam." 

Her expression softened. "Well. I couldn't see you then." 

"I know I've been obsessed with this lately. Him, the book, everything. I feel like I may be being lousy at, well, us right now." 

"A little," she conceded, and he liked that even in this she was honest. "But it's all right. I'm sure there will be times when I'll get consumed by something and flake on the relationship stuff." 

"I don't want to," he said, worried he'd hurt her. Which was the last thing on earth he wanted. "You're the best thing in my life." 

Reaching over, she rubbed her knuckle against the back of his hand. "I'm no expert, but I think relationships have give and take. Peaks and valleys. I love you. I know you're distracted, I know Bucky is important to you and the comic is healing. So I'm good. I'll wait. And when you're out the other side I'll still be here." 

He turned his hand to hold hers. "Promise?" 

"Cross my heart." She mimed the gesture over her chest. 

Some days he really wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve her. "What do you say we finish our soup and go to bed early?" 

She grinned widely. "That sounds like an awesome idea." 

* 

Sharon had meant everything she said when she told Steve she was committed to sticking with him, even in rough times. She did sort of miss their quiet evenings together, cuddling on the couch or reading in bed. But she believed it was temporary and she could be patient. Half of Steve's attention was still better than some previous relationships she'd had. 

Still, when Amanda called and suggested they get coffee, she jumped at the chance to break up the monotony a little. 

"You okay?" she asked while they waited for their drinks. Amanda was pretty perceptive. 

She sighed and tried to think how to explain her current woes without getting into the whole amnesiac assassin in the back yard. "Steve and I are having a rough patch. He's. . . I think he's having a touch of depression and is throwing himself into the comic book he's working on." 

Amanda had on her Doctor Face now. "In a healthy way or an _un_ healthy way?" 

"I think we're still in healthy. He mentioned that he felt like he was neglecting me the other day, which I think is a good sign. Self awareness, and all that." She sipped her coffee. "I think he's processing stuff and the comic helps with that. I want to give him some space to do that." 

"He's been through a lot. Doesn't always button up neatly." 

Sharon knew that was the voice of experience. "I know. I'm keeping an eye on him." 

"That's probably all you can do. And, well, be there." 

"That I am very good at." Shifting in her seat she quite deliberately changed the topic. "What have you been up to?" 

Amanda looked vaguely guilty. "Actually, I did have an ulterior motive for getting together. I need to call in my favor from that thing with the bloody wound I totally didn't sew up." 

Sharon was pretty sure Amanda actually kept a tally of favors owed somewhere in her head. "Sure, what's up?" 

"There's a guy who has been hassling me at work. I helped his wife get to a shelter after she came in for the third time in six months. He's pissed and trying to find her and thinks I'll tell him. I was hoping you could come by after work sometime and flash your badge, scare him off." 

"I would be _honored_ to do that. Maybe he'll take a swing at me and I'll have to arrest him." She supposed he could bring Steve if she really wanted to scare him. But even the worst chauvinist generally respected a bigger and stronger man. He wouldn't learn anything from being punched by Captain America. 

"Thank you," Amanda said sincerely. "He's a bully and I'll happily pepper spray his ass if he doesn't take the hint. But I figured I'd do it the legitimate way first." 

"Just give me a call next time he's hanging around." 

"I will. It's not as exciting as taking down government agencies, but I appreciate it." 

"Trust me, the once was enough." 

When she got home, Steve was texting, as usual. She left the baggie of baked goods she'd brought back from the cafe out on Bucky's step, then fluffed Steve's hair as she passed him on her way to shower. 

He looked up in surprise. "Hey. How was coffee?" he called after her. 

"Good." She turned the water on but left the bathroom door open as she stripped so they could chat. "Amanda says hi." 

His eyes wandered over her. "That's nice," he said absently. 

Shaking her head, she tossed her bra at him. "She asked me to swing by her work this week and put the fear of legal repercussions into some guy." 

He grinned. "Can I come watch?" 

"No, but I'll ask her to record it for you, if you like." 

He stood up and walked towards her. "I find watching you kick ass hot, is all." 

"I'm hoping to avoid the actual ass kicking." She tugged the clip out of her hair, letting it hang down her back. "But I suppose you never know." 

He'd reached the doorway of the bathroom, and leaned against the jam. "Remember how we were talking about taking a vacation?" 

"I do." She stuck her hand in the shower to check the water, then stepped in. "Are we revisiting the topic?" 

"I was thinking it might do us some good." 

She smiled, tipping her head back to wet down her hair. "I'll have to see how healthy my PTO bank is. But I should be able to make something work." 

"Well. . . you know my schedule." 

"Did you have an inclination on where to go?" 

She could see him out there through the foggy glass. “Any place that calls for a bikini," he replied. 

Of course. "What if I wanted to hike the Alps?" 

"I think you'd get some significant frostbite," he replied without missing a beat. 

Chuckling, she shampooed and rinsed her hair. "You going to do some research? Or does your busy retiree schedule not allow it?" 

"I will plan this like the Normandy Invasion," he said sincerely. 

"What's scary is I know you mean that literally." 

The emails started in the morning. He was home and she was at work and her phone pinged all day with information about various resorts on various islands. It didn't help the house-husband jokes at all, but she figured they were just jealous. She answered what she could on lunch break and they sat on the couch after dinner narrowing their options. 

It did get a little overwhelming, though, and on the third day she almost missed a message from Amanda thanks to the sea of vacation links. 

_Hey, I'm gonna be late tonight. Amanda's getting off at nine and said that guy that was bothering her is hanging around._

_Good luck!_ he replied. 

_I'll try to get you some video._

After work, she grabbed some dinner, did some reading, then headed over to Amanda's hospital a few minutes before she was set to clock out. She did a scan of the parking lot on her way in, but didn't see anyone suspicious. 

Amanda looked relieved when she saw her. "Thanks for coming." 

"Hey, it's not a problem." She hugged her briefly, since she looked like she needed it. "I said I'd help you out." 

"He was out in the parking lot half the night," she said with a sigh. "Of course, now I don't see him." 

"Well, if you need to call me every night till he does show up, we can do that." Amanda was the toughest person she knew that wasn't a cop or a soldier. If this was enough to spook her, Sharon was going to take it seriously. 

"He yelled at me that he'd 'get it out of me' where his wife was. I've met enough tough-talking assholes and enough genuinely ruthless people to tell when someone's got real menace in them." 

Sharon rubbed her arm as they headed for the exit. "I'll wave the badge around and see if I can shoo him off. But if he escalates I'm prepared to take action. Either way, we'll get him out of your hair." 

"At this point, I wouldn't complain if you shot him." 

"Well, it's an option, but not exactly Plan A." They hit the doors and she noticed Amanda square her shoulders a little as they stepped onto the street. Amanda lived a few blocks away and Sharon and Steve about half a mile farther. It had been one of the nice things about living with Steve is that she did manage to get together with Amanda more often. 

They crossed the lot, heading for the sidewalk. Sharon was on high alert, watching the shadows and likely hiding spots. They were at the far end of the lot, just before the street lights would start illuminating everything, when she heard a shuffle. "Dr. Newbury." 

Amanda froze and Sharon started to pull out her badge when she saw the dull gleam of a pistol. She shoved Amanda, knocking them both to the ground. There was the sharp bang of the gun going off, then a meaty smack and the man with the gun dropped like a bag of rocks. 

Sharon looked up and it took her a moment to realize the muscled, shaggy-haired man standing over the perp was Barnes. She couldn't see his face, really, but she could see the metal hand coming out of the sleeve of the red sweatshirt she'd left out for him. She recognized the backpack on his shoulders, too. He lifted his head and looked over at them. She half expected him to bolt, but he asked, "You okay?" 

Stunned, she nodded, then glanced down at Amanda. "You okay?" she asked, helping her sit up. 

"Mostly." She held up her arm which had gotten skinned up in the dive to the asphalt. 

Satisfied no one was shot, Sharon got up and pulled a zip tie out of her pocket. The gunman was starting to stir so she kicked the pistol out of his reach and straddled him to secure his hands. "What are you doing here?" she asked Barnes, who was still hovering nearby. 

He shifted, as if now considering that bolting thing. "Steve texted that you were helping a friend. I just thought. . . backup is good to have." 

She grinned. "It's very good to have. Thank you. This could have ended really badly." 

He shrugged. "You helped me out." 

Amanda was slowly getting to her feet. "Is this the guy?" Sharon asked, just to be sure. 

"That's him. The gun is new." 

Sharon nodded and stood. "I need to call this in." She looked at Barnes. "You shouldn't be here when backup gets here. Can you do me a favor and take Amanda back to our place? I'll deal with the scene here and come home to take her statement." He visibly balked and she added, quieter, "Bucky, it's time." 

The shadows were deep and it was hard to see his expression, especially when he lowered his head in thought. Finally he nodded and she turned to Amanda. "This is Bucky, he's Steve's best friend. I trust him with my life, so can you." 

She was still staring at the man on the ground and hugging her injured arm to her chest, but she nodded. "All right." 

Barnes stepped to her side, politely waiting to go. Sharon gave her friend a nudge and watched the two of them walk away, then pulled her phone out to call dispatch. 


	5. Chapter 5

Steve didn't know how late Sharon would be, so he decided to make stew because it would keep and reheat well. She was usually starving after a late night like this.

It was almost ten when he heard footsteps on the stairs. Two sets of footsteps. Feeling a twinge of worry he got up from his drafting table just in time for the door to open and Amanda to limp in, holding her bleeding arm to her chest. Before he could ask what happened the second person stepped inside, only it wasn't Sharon, it was Bucky.

He sucked in a breath, for a moment unable to move. "Hi."

"Hi." He glanced at Amanda and cleared his throat. "There was a, uh, incident at the hospital. Sharon asked me to walk her here."

Steve looked at Amanda, too. "Okay. Let me get the first aid kit." It would give him something to do.

"Thanks," she said quietly. She came farther into the apartment, sitting on the couch and Bucky shuffled forward uncertainly.

Steve offered him a smile. He wanted to hug him, but sensed that was probably a bad idea. "You can sit, too, if you want. Or raid the fridge. Or. . . anything."

Bucky nodded and Steve went to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit. He took a moment to take some deep breaths and center himself, and when he got back out the others were now in the kitchen hovering over the stew. "Rosemary?" Bucky was saying.

Amanda lifted a shoulder. "I think something spicy. Do they have red pepper?"

"Spice rack is in the cabinet to the left of the stove," he commented from the doorway.

Bucky jumped at his voice, but Amanda just stepped past him to rummage. "Food is better now," he said, gesturing at the stew pot.

"You were always welcome to come in for dinner," he said quietly.

He shrugged uncomfortably. "Seemed a big step."

Steve nodded, because what else could he do. He didn't want to make him more uncomfortable. He held the first aid kit out. "You need help with your arm?"

"Yes, please." Amanda sprinkled more spices in, handed Bucky the tasting spoon and went to sit at the table. "It's superficial, but needs to get cleaned out."

He opened the box and took out alcohol wipes to clean the scratch, watching Bucky fuss with his stew with one eye. "There's new pages on the desk," he said finally.

He tinkered with the soup another moment, then wandered over to the desk. 

"I feel like I'm missing some context," Amanda said through gritted teeth as he cleaned her arm. "But he was pretty awesome tonight."

"What did he do?" Steve couldn't imagine how this situation had gone down.

"The man who's been stalking me pulled a gun. Sharon knocked me down and your friend came out of nowhere and punched him in the temple. Sent him to the ground long enough for Sharon to get him tied up."

"What was he doing there?"

"He said you'd told him what Sharon was doing and he followed her as back up."

If he was honest, that was a very Bucky thing to do. The thought made him happy. But this woman did not need the whole complicated explanation. "I did. I had no idea he'd tail her."

"He seemed to think he owed her one from something. In any case, it probably stopped the situation from getting real ugly real fast." She peered at the scrapes and reached in the first aid kid for antiseptic cream. "Never hurts to have a guardian angel."

He looked up over at where Bucky was leafing through his sketches for the comic. It was surreal to see him standing there in his apartment. "I do not disagree."

Together, they got her arm bandaged. After he'd cleaned up the first aid stuff and got her a drink, the front door opened and Sharon stepped in. She smiled when she saw Bucky was still there. "Hi."

Steve stood up and went to her. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good." Still, she leaned into him, sliding her arms around his waist. "Mr. Bomber is in jail. I gave my statement to the unit that showed up and promised to file Amanda's in the morning. I played you up as way more shaken up than you were, by the way." Steve glanced over to see Amanda raise her whiskey in a salute before slugging more of it back. "I kept Bucky out of it, as far as they know I knocked Amanda aside and kicked Bomber in the head. He didn't see what hit him and can't contradict me."

"People usually believe that sort of thing about me once they get a look at my face," Amanda commented. 

Steve had never gotten the whole story about the rather impressive scar on her face, though he knew Sharon knew. He could see how people would assume she was easily frightened or fragile with that kind of trauma in her past. 

"Anyway." Sharon kissed Steve's cheek. "The gun wasn't registered and the shot he got off hit a parked car. So he'll have several charges against him, especially if you want to press for the stalking and threats."

"Hell yeah."

"That's my girl."

Bucky went back to the kitchen to check on the soup. "How did you get that scar?" he asked.

Steve winced. "That's not really—"

"A guy tried to rape me and I fought back," she said without any inflection. Sharon started in surprise.

"What happened to the guy?" Bucky asked.

"I stabbed him in the throat with a scalpel."

Bucky nodded, looking impressed, before turned to stir the stew. Steve rubbed his forehead. This situation was only getting stranger by the minute.

"I could really go for some stew," Sharon said, giving him a little squeeze.

And so began the weirdest impromptu dinner party Steve had ever witnessed. The four of them ate. Bucky and Amanda made surprisingly polite chit-chat. Bucky seemed far more normal than Steve would have expected. A fact that, if he thought about, made him a little angry.

When they were done, Sharon got Amanda's statement and called her a cab to take her home. Bucky hovered awkwardly a while, then offered to help him with the dishes. "We have a dishwasher. You can help me load it," Steve offered.

"I've never loaded a dishwasher before."

"There's a lot of that kind of stuff in the future."

They stood shoulder to shoulder, Bucky rinsing off the dishes and handing them to Steve to load. The silence wasn't quite awkward, but there was a tension to it. Finally, Bucky said softly, "Part of me still worries something in my head will switch over and I'll find myself hurting you. Or Sharon. Or whoever was nearby."

"You've tried to kill me like twice now. Didn't stick. I'm not afraid of you."

"Not everyone is you. But I'm trying to be around people more." He handed Steve the last glass and dried his hand off. "I spent a lot of time at the park and the library, watching people, seeing how they interact. Tonight wasn't as bad as I thought. You're right, I should have come in sooner."

"Thank you for looking out for her."

He lifted a shoulder. "Seemed the right thing to do."

Steve was quiet a moment. "I'm sorry we didn't search for you. I didn't imagine you could have survived that fall." 

"No reason you should have. I don't even know if I'd have been there if you did go hunting." He sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I don't blame you for anything."

"You looked after me, I should have looked after you."

"You saved me." He said it simply, firmly, as if it should be obvious. "You made me remember. I'd still be there if not for you."

Steve ducked his head. "Well. Thanks for pulling me out of the river."

He nodded and they stood in silence a moment. "I'm not really sure where to go from here," Bucky finally admitted. "I'm guessing you guys aren't eager for a roomie."

"You can crash here while we figure it out. My couch has got to be comfier than squatting."

That earned him a very familiar, crooked grin. "Slightly."

He glanced over at Sharon, who was picking up the living room. He hoped she wasn't mad at him for this. "You have stuff you need to get?"

"No. Everything I care about is in the backpack." He gestured to where he'd left it. "I wouldn't say no to a shower and a razor, though."

"That I can do." He showed Bucky to the bathroom, got him towels and popped a fresh blade in his razor for him to use. "It should be pretty obvious by bottle color and/or scent which stuff is mine and which is hers."

"I might want to smell like gardenias," he said dryly. "You never know."

Steve laughed. "Hey, I don't judge."

With a smile and a nod Bucky closed the door and Steve went out to the main room to find Sharon on the couch with her feet up and her eyes closed. "This was a hell of a day."

He sat next to her and put an arm around her. "You okay?"

"I'm tired." She tucked into his side and settled her head on his shoulder. "Like bone-tired."

"I invited him to crash on the couch."

She nodded. "I assumed you would."

He sifted his fingers through her hair. "Now I regret not getting a two bedroom place."

"It would be convenient." She rubbed his arm. "How are you doing?"

That was a complicated question. He thought seeing Bucky in person would make the limbo weirdness better, but it may have only made it worse. "It's been an interesting evening."

"I'm sorry, it just seemed like a good opportunity to get him to come in."

"No, I know. It needed to happen. This is just the next phase of figuring it all out."

"Progress is good."

"I love you," he said. "You know that, don't you?"

She smiled and kissed him. "I love you back."

"You are honestly the best thing that's ever happened to me. And I don't want to screw that up."

"Hey," she said softly, touching his cheek. "I love you. I want to be here for you. And you will absolutely know when I start getting unhappy. Okay?"

He kissed her, pulling her closer, into his lap. "Okay."

She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder again. "As soon as he's out I intend to go pass out in bed."

*

When Sharon woke up in the morning, Steve was still sound asleep, face buried in his pillow. Yet she could very clearly smell bacon frying. It took her a minute to remember they had a houseguest. She slid slowly out of bed in an effort not to wake him and tugged a cardigan on over her pajama top before heading out to the main part of of the apartment.

In the kitchen, Bucky hovered over the stove, studying bacon with the intensity of an interrogator looking for a confession. "Good morning," she offered cautiously. "Did the bacon offend you?"

He jerked and shook his head. "No. Mind was wandering." He offered a hesitant smile. "Morning."

"You make coffee?" she asked, and he nodded, pointing at the pot. She poured herself a cup and watched in poke the bacon a moment. "Just bacon."

He lifted a shoulder. "It has not changed since the forties."

 "Right. Let me see what I can cobble together."

There was another long stretch of silence while they worked. Then he said. "Your friend is nice."

"Amanda?" Amanda generally didn't come off as 'nice' to new people. She tended more towards brusque and blunt. Sharon wondered what the two of them talked about on the walk home. "She's been a good friend."

"I think the original me was a good friend."

"You were," she told him. "Steve considered you a brother." She flipped the row of pancakes she was working on. "I think you're still a pretty good one."

"I hope so. I want to try. He's the most stable thing in my memory. The one thing that's really clear."

"You're welcome here as long as you like." He looked over at her. "Steve will tell you the same thing, so I'm telling you as well, so you know he's not pissing me off or you're overstaying you're welcome. You're very important to him and you saved me and Amanda. So you stay as long as you want." She started stacking pancakes on a plate. "Hell, I'm not opposed to looking for a bigger place for the three of us."

He took a stack for himself. "Steve needs a studio. He's taken over your living room."

"Yes, he has." It was a topic she'd been meaning to bring up for a while now. She loved his apartment and knew he did as well, but it had been bought for one man. Now with her there and him working from home it was a little tight. If they were going to add a long-term guest to the mix then it was definitely time to upgrade. "Maybe if we gang up on him he'll cave."

"Familiarity breeds contempt. We'll get along better if we have space."

She glanced over at him. "So you think you're gonna stick around for the long haul?"

He was quiet a long moment. "Well, it's not like I have anywhere else to be."

That wasn't exactly a glowing endorsement of friendship, but it was something. This was going to be a long series of baby steps. "I'll go wake up Steve before you eat all the pancakes."

He waited until she got to the door before saying, "Sharon."

She didn't know him well enough to know his tones, so she braced for the worst before turning back. "Yeah?"

"Thank you for taking such good care of him."

It took a moment for the words to process. She smiled and inclined her head. "It was my pleasure." Bucky smiled and nodded, and she went to wake up Steve.

He was starting to stir, so she crawled over her side of the bed to nudge him. "Your two favorite people made you breakfast."

Steve put his arms around her and smiled. "He's still here?"

"He is and we're already plotting against you." She kissed his jaw. "And he makes _perfect_ bacon."

"I'm a little scared of the plotting, but I'm hungry."

"Good, come on." She kissed him. "Before he eats it all." He kissed her back, very thoroughly, before finally getting out of bed.

There was still food left when they returned and they managed to have a nice breakfast, splitting up the newspaper and making idle talk. It was pretty obvious Steve and Bucky didn't really know what to do with each other, but they were both trying and that had to count for something.

When they were done eating, Steve looked over at Bucky. "Do you run?"

He blinked and Sharon could see him process that Steve was talking about exercise and not, like fleeing the law. Then he smiled. "I do."

"It's a nice day. I was thinking of doing a couple miles around the neighborhood if you're interested."

"I'd like that."

Steve leaned over to look at what he was wearing. "I should be able to dig you up some workout gear."

"Thanks." He blinked, then looked over at Sharon. "Did you want to-"

She choked on her coffee and shook her head. "No, thanks. I'd like to feel my legs the rest of the day. You boys have fun. I have to bring Amanda's statement into the station and finish paperwork."

"She's kind of slow," Steve stage-whispered, and Bucky actually laughed, a sound Sharon hadn't heard before.

It clearly delighted Steve and she smiled, shaking her head. "You guys get ready. I can clean up."

She washed the breakfast dishes while they got dressed. Steve gave her a long kiss before they headed out.

Once she'd finished cleaning up the kitchen, she tossed some stuff into the wash and headed into work to do her paperwork. It went quicker than expected and she was done just after lunchtime. Steve and Bucky probably needed a little more testosterone time, so she called Amanda. "Did you take the day off?" 

"I did." Sharon was actually surprised, Amanda was a workaholic of epic proportions. She was less surprised when her friend added, "I'm bored out of my mind."

"Want to get cheeseburgers and shop for clothes?” She was pretty sure she was going to get turned down, Amanda hated shopping with a fire, but it was worth a shot.

There was a long paused, then, "Yes. That is how bored I am."

Sharon grinned. "I'll be over in a few minutes."

*

They ran for a while in silence, but it was companionable. It was nice to both run full-out, and run with company at the same time. Finally Steve asked, "So you're going to stay for a bit?"

"Yeah. I'd like to. I think." Bucky glanced his way. "Sharon said she was okay with it."

"One of the many reasons I love her." He smiled. "Will you be around long enough to be worth getting a bigger place?"

Bucky smiled faintly. "It's like you were listening in." He paused to pass some other joggers. "I think a bigger place would help the situation. Probably make me stay longer. Only so long someone can take over your couch before everyone is mad."

"Sharon and I are kind of crowded already, and I know she'd like to be up closer to Manhattan. And I need a place to work. So yeah, lets find a new place."

"I remember just enough about human nature to know three people agreeing on a home is going to be a challenge."

"If our friendship survives, we'll know it was meant to be."

He shook his head. "The depression, a war, seventy years and brain washing, but it's the New York real estate market that kills it."

"Some things don't ever really change, do they?"

"Some things." He was quiet a moment. "It's nice."

Steve slowed down to catch his breath. "That the world isn't completely foreign?"

"Yeah." He stretched his right arm up over his head, working out something in his shoulder. "My memories are really spotty and pretty much stop at a certain point in the war. I remember growing up in New York, though and every so often I pass a building or park or store and it's just. . . the same. And it settles something."

Steve grinned. "Wanna go to Coney Island?"

His brow furrowed a little, then a slow smile spread over his face. "All right, but if you're gonna vomit, you better do it on the outside of the car."

"You'd be surprised how steady my stomach is these days."

"I remember funnel cake fondly."

They were walking now, so Steve pulled out his phone and texted Sharon. _Bucky and I want to go to Coney Island. You in?_

There was a pause before he got a response. _Is it okay if Amanda comes? We're shopping._

He looked up at Bucky. "You mind if she brings her doctor friend?"

Bucky cleared his throat a couple times. "That would be fine."

That was an interesting reaction, but in no way was Steve going to interrogate him. He texted Sharon back. _Yes. Bucky is almost blushing. I have no idea what to make of that._

_She has asked me a dozen VERY casual questions about him. I say we end the evening feeding them spaghetti and playing That's Amore on an accordion._

Steve laughed. _That is a very bizarre and specific suggestion._

There was a long pause. _I'm sorry, I thought that movie was older than it was. I'm clearly behind on your Disney movies._

_See, until you said Disney I was half expecting it to be a very strange porno._

_You know, somewhere online I'm sure. Back on topic, we'll wrap up here and meet you at the apartment?_

_Yes._ He looked back up at Bucky, who was watching him with the oddest expression. "What?"

"Nothing. You just have the oddest look on your face. Affection mixed with confusion and maybe embarrassment?"

"Sharon's being adorable and we're making inappropriate jokes." Also, matchmaking, but he wasn't going to add that.

"Ah. Of course." He drank more water. "We headed back, then?"

"They're shopping, I don't think we have to rush."

"Rats. I was gonna race you."

"Jerk." Steve grinned. "You're on." Without warned, Bucky took off running and with a laugh Steve sprinted after him. They ran full speed the whole way back, passing cars and ducking down side streets to avoid pedestrians. Steve won, but it was damn close and they were both panting and sweaty by the time they got to the apartment.

Steve coughed a little. "I usually only run that hard when someone's trying to kill me."

There was a definite wheeze to Bucky's laugh. "Yeah. Me, too." They refilled their water bottles in the kitchen and were still guzzling it down when the door opened in a jangle of keys.  
 "Oh, hey, you did beat us," Sharon said. She had a couple of shopping bags dangling from her wrist. Amanda was loitering behind her with bags of her own. "Amanda needs to change, she wasn't expecting to be out all day." She paused and wrinkled her nose. "But clearly you guys have dibs."

"I take it I shouldn't come kiss you?" He looked over his shoulder at Bucky. "You can shower first."

"Thanks." He looked down at his borrowed shirt. "You're gonna run out of shirts I can wear."

"We bought you clothes," Amanda said. Steve and Bucky both looked at her and she looked almost surprised at herself. "Well Sharon bought them. I helped pick them out. Well. I offered opinions. On the clothes."

Sharon rescued her by taking a couple bags from her and holding them all out to Bucky. "Figured if you were settling in for a while we could build you a proper wardrobe."

Bucky took the bags from her. "Thank you," he said quietly, mostly to Amanda.

Steve nudged him. "Go get cleaned up." He nodded and took his bags back to the bedroom.

"I'm going to go check my messages," Amanda said, hooking a thumb towards the living room. She pulled her phone out and stepped out onto the patio for privacy.

Sharon was grinning at Steve. "So how did they do this in your day? Does he need to ask my permission? Should I be chaperoning them?"

"In my day he never lacked for girls. Used to dredge up one for me, too, often. Usually that didn't quite work out."

"And now you're supplying them for him."

He reached for her hand. "He told me you invited him to stay."

Her fingers wove with his. "Well, I knew you would and I wanted to make sure he knew he was welcome. And not a burden."

"You're just. . . really amazing. You can have the final vote in the new place."

She grinned. "So we _are_ getting a new place?"

"You and I should have somewhere that's ours."

"I like the sound of that." Stepping closer, she kissed him. "I love you."

He tucked his hands around her waist. "You must, given you've come this close to me and my sweat."

"I'm such a good girl friend."

He dropped his mouth next to her ear. "I really wish I could take you in the shower with me."

She flushed rather delightfully. “Well, that would give Amanda and Bucky some time to chat."

"Later," he said, kissing the skin beneath her ear.

The patio door slid open and they separated. "Why don't you go tell Bucky to hurry up. We're losing daylight."

Half an hour later the four of them headed out. Coney Island was very different from what it had been back in the 40's, but the vibe was still there. The Cyclone was still there. They all went on it and nobody threw up. When they got off Bucky pondered why the serum would have fixed motion sickness, which lead to Amanda explaining equilibrium and the working of the inner ear as they strolled through the food vendors.

Sharon tucked her arm through Steve's leaning on him as they walked. "This was a good idea."

"It's the first successful double date I've ever been on," he told her. He felt very. . . content right now.

"And it only took seventy years." Behind them, Bucky's voice rumbled in a comment and Amanda laughed. Sharon grinned up at him. "Definitely successful."

Bucky passed around him, punching him in the shoulder as he went. "I've found the funnel cake." He and Amanda had parted to come around them, but joined again to walk to the funnel cake stand. He put his hand on the small of her back.

"You know he and I shared an apartment before the war?" Steve commented to Sharon. What a shitty apartment that had been. You could have fit it in his current living room.

"Does he have any obnoxious habits I should know about? Dirty dishes in the sink? Pile of socks under the couch?"

Steve sighed heavily. "Loud sex."

"Oh my _God_." She glanced over at he other two where they were ordering their funnel cake. "I feel like I should warn her."

"I think we should leave them to enjoy themselves and just make sure we don't share a wall."

"If we get a townhouse or something he could get his own floor." Amanda laughed again and was clearly blushing as she pulled off a piece of funnel cake. "It's good. Maybe he'll loosen her up."

"Were we that adorable when we were new?"

"We have a lot less baggage; I think we were probably even more adorable. To a level that might have been sickening."

He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. "Neither of us noticed."

"Well, we only had eyes for each other."

Steve grinned. Because, God, did he adore her. "You are the best thing that ever happened to me.

Her expression softened and she reached up to cup the back of his head, drawing him down to rest his forehead on hers. "I love you, Colonel."

"I love you, too."

In front of them, Amanda turned and held out her funnel cake. "Sharon, please eat some of this, I can't finish it."

She smiled and went forward, and Steve just watched them. Watched her. The world was pretty much perfect right now. Well, almost.

He pulled out his phone and texted her. _Hey, wanna get married?_


End file.
